“You have taunted him about his looks in a public place, and he does not know enough of your own tongue to answer you in kind,” Dian said quietly. Then he turned and looked Humphrey Trail full in the face, and it seemed as though at once, without any need of word or explanation, the two were friends. Dian’s smile was good to see as he held out his hand and took Humphrey Trail’s broad one.
“You are a stranger, I see from your speech, and, if I mistake not, you are English. You have come to our country at a sad time.” Dian spoke slowly and Humphrey understood all that he said and answered warmly, though he still glowered over his shoulder at Raoul, who was walking off with Guy Soufflot. He continued to grin as he moved on, but he did not call out again. Humphrey and Dian were left together there, in that momentarily quiet corner of the West Barricade.
“I came to see a strange country last summer. I’d saved a bit o’ gold, and I wanted a sight o’ the world. Tha comes from the farmlands thaself, an’ I mistake not.” As Humphrey answered Dian he felt his temper cool rapidly. He looked at Dian’s bronzed face and grave blue eyes, and he felt a strong desire to confide in him, to tell him the whole story, of how he had remained in Paris to help Lisle, had rescued Rosanne, and was now in a vortex of worry as to what to do next. What he did say was: “I stayed because I thought I might help. There was a lad whom I thought needed me; and so he did, but I wasn’t about the while he needed me the most!” Something of poor Humphrey’s discouragement sounded in his voice.
“There is a lad who needs me also,” Dian answered in his rich, sweet voice, his eyes shining with a deep gratitude. It was several days ago that he had found the note in the cake at the seed shopman’s supper, and he had known only thankfulness since. He had not gone into the bakery shop, though he had been near it often. He thought it best not to attract attention to himself there, and he waited for the moment when he should be able to get word to Lisle in some way. Dian was not so amazed or bewildered at the wonderful way in which the message of Lisle’s whereabouts had come to him as another might have been. He had known so many things in his life to happen in just that way, and he trusted always.
Vivi came running up to them and took Humphrey’s hand. She wore a ragged jacket over her drab dress, and her black, untidy hair flapped about her dark, eager little face. Dian smiled at her, and she smiled back at him, as all children did.
“She is like some one that I know well,” he said to Humphrey Trail.
“Now that is rare strange, for some one else has said the same,” Humphrey answered as the three made their way slowly from the west gate toward the city.
Vivi was excited. She had played and danced and eaten a good piece of bread and garlic which one of the soldiers had given her. When Humphrey said with his few, slowly-chosen French words that some one else had said she was like a friend, she cried out unthinkingly:
“Yes, yes, the little lady said so. She called out when you carried her in that night, 'She’s a little like Marie Josephine!’”
Dian stood still in the street, his hand on Humphrey’s arm.